


John Smith's Turn

by Daphne_Fredriksen



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Non-canonical elements, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Language, Period-Typical Racism, Post-War, Pre-Canon, Pre-War, Relationship(s), character biographies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-08-27 12:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 12,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16702702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daphne_Fredriksen/pseuds/Daphne_Fredriksen
Summary: The story is told in both the “present-day” (1960’s) and in a series of flashbacks (1930’s-40’s)This story attempts to tell John Smith's backstory, including what might have contributed to John Smith becoming a Nazi.  He starts out as any American male: decent family man; wanting to get on; former Army Intelligence officer (Captain).  Then he becomes not just a Nazi, but a top-ranking Nazi in the Greater American Reich - why, and how? This story gives some of those answers, in a way that satisfies my burning questions.Fans of the series should note that this was written between Season 2 and Season 3, and that I take some liberties with the Smiths' bios (particularly compared to the "official" bios from S3's "X-Ray").  Nevertheless, I hope those alternatives are believable.





	1. Prologue - The Girl Of The Dunes

_Morning: harsh light, bright with late-August glare. Yet in the Dunes, only the tops were lit by the morning sun – at the base of the dunes was a hint of shade; at the base of the biggest one, a positive shadow._

_The woman with ash blonde hair stood at the edge of a large dune, looking out at the blue water. Even viewed from the back, she seemed very faraway, almost as if projecting herself into the universe. _  
__

_The man – tall, broad-shouldered, wind in his dark curls – paused, not wanting to break the dreamstate. But he walked on toward the girl. She sensed him, sensed the settling of the sand as he walked, and  she subconsciously leaned back. His palm was warm on her shoulder. _  
__

_“Well, Mr. Smith? _”  
__

_He kissed the top of her head. “Not ‘Mr.’ for much longer. Just a corporal. But at least I’ll be in the intelligence corps.” _  
__

_“If you must go, then there is no better place to go. But must you – now? Hostilities might still be averted. What about Ribbentrop-Molotov?” _  
__

_“Don’t trust it. And then there’s the Japs. The unknown quantity.” _  
__

_“Why, they’re backwards! Imperialist. Superstitious.” _  
__

_“And well-armed. And clever. I know you think the future lies with the Soviets. I fear it lies on either side of Russia.” _  
__

_The girl turned fully towards him, trembling. “John, I can’t bear this. If only I could be by your side! I know once you go to some Army camp Back East, I’ll never see you again.” _  
__

_He kissed her again: her forehead, her wet eyes. Her fragile mouth. _  
__

_“Don’t say that, Karen. We will. When… when these awful war games are over, and the mobs and masses are stumbling about, we will re-form the world as we always said we would. We will be together as we’ve always dreamed… Karen, do you believe me?” _  
__

_The girl sighed. “But… if war comes… who will survive? We will all go back to being animals.” She slumped down, kneeling in the sand, “I am losing hope. And all of any world I want right now is you.” _  
__

_With that, John Smith dropped to the sand too, taking the girl into his arms, embracing her as if nothing else would ever matter._


	2. Milwaukee Is Going To Want To See You

Oberstgruppenführer John Smith sat in his office in New York. Raeder, his aide had reminded him of this afternoon’s meetings, and that reminded him unhappily of this morning’s conversation.

He’d been in Helen’s boudoir, as was his habit. He loved lounging in his wife’s Louis Quinze chairs, watching her get ready in the morning. It was still magical how she dropped her sensuality and sleepiness with her peignoir; then, with daubings and buttonings and jewelry-fastenings, she became the brisk smart wife and female head of the family.

She’d started to dab her neck with Chanel’s latest scent. (Thank goodness he’d remembered to pick it up from Mademoiselle’s salon in Berlin.) He leaned over to kiss her neck. “Do you like it?”

Helen Smith paused. “The perfume? I love it! Thank you, John.” She offered him her lipsticked mouth to kiss; she didn’t pull away when he held her chin to keep her there. How could she? She hated him but she loved him; she wanted him and wanted nothing more to do with him.

And, she had something she wanted to ask him. “You’ll be there, this afternoon, won’t you, Dear? To meet the Ladies’?”

John went back to his chair, crossing his long legs. “There is so much to do; so much that demands my time.” She frowned. “For the Reich, Dear.” He hated the ceremonial duties of his new role.

“Well, Ladies’ Auxiliaries are part of the Reich, too. And there’s going to be a special visitor, so I’m told. From Milwaukee!”

“Milwaukee? Really!”

“Yes, Milwaukee. Brewer to the Reich.” Helen adjusted her pearl earrings. “You know Milwaukee is going to want to see you. Please the hicks from the sticks.” John frowned a bit at that. “Or, do it to please me. I want to see you, show you off a bit. I think…” she bit her lip, turned in her chair to face him, “I think that is the least you can do for me, considering.”

John stood up as if stung. He placed both hands on her shoulders, hard. But her eyes were glass-hard and his hands trembled.

“For you,” he whispered. “Always, Helen, I do it for you.” Then he left, swiftly.


	3. Obergruppenführerin Johnson

The auxiliary arrived; he heard them exclaiming and trilling in the outside vestibule. He went to the doorway to look out at them.

Helen was radiant; acting the Queen Bee of Reich society had always been her element. Helen Marie Van der Burgh, elevated to the high levels of New York society, just as she had been the Queen of Philadelphia society in her youth. And how can you be a queen without subjects to awe?

The heads of the various auxiliaries came into the room, clad in standard brown-shirt uniforms, but with skirts, which showed their piano legs: Cleveland, Lexington, Detroit, Peoria. Some lesser women from smaller towns followed, in their best street suits. Quite an assembly from the hinterlands.

One lady had been hanging back, talking with his aide. At last she strode forward, and Helen brought her up to meet him.

“Obergruppenführerin Karen Johnson, allow me to introduce Oberstgruppenführer John Smith.”

Standing before him was a woman, not in an ordinary army-type uniform, but clad in SS black, tunic same as his. And, again, skirted. But no piano legs on this one. Not at all.

He extended his hand, “Well, this is a surprise! I have not had the pleasure… to meet a female -gruppenführer. Pardon me, _-führerin_ …”

The woman licked her lips nervously; was she offended? She gripped his hand. He noticed that it was warm and strong.

“The Reich is expanding, modernizing… and wise enough to use its useful members to their best capacity.”

“Of course.” (Was that a flinch on his wife’s part?)

“I think,” interposed Helen, “this is a positive move. We woman have brains; we should use them in whatever service we can.”

Obergruppenführerin Johnson took out her card, and handed it to Smith. “I think you will find more to the purpose in my file, a copy of which I’ve left with your aide. At the Führer’s request.”

“In that case, I will attend to it promptly.”

“Yes, do.” She cocked her head a little to the left, with a wry smile. He knew that gesture; and she knew that he knew it.

Helen led the ladies to go out, then backtracked to place a warm kiss on John’s cheek. “Wonderful as always, Darling.” John watched his wife proudly, with her brisk sashay out of the room.

Raeder closed the door behind him, but not before giving Smith the woman’s file.


	4. A Machinist

As a machinist in a Chicago factory, John Smith was a proud union member, and knew most or all of the unions.  He also knew of the World Laborer’s Party, a communistic group.  Many of his South Side neighbors spoke of them during summer evenings on their stoops – what they did that was good, or whether they were too close to Communism to be good.

But he’d never stopped to talk to any of the Party members, never bothered to follow through with his curious questions.  Until today, when - after calling in sick to work  - he came to a dingy office just west of the Loop.   There were a few men hanging about, talking.

A young woman with mousy brown hair, glasses on a lanyard around her neck, stepped forward.  “What is your business, friend?” she asked kindly, “are you applying for family benefits or single workers’ relief?”

“Actually, I’m here to learn about organizing, negotiating.  I work at a factory, and we need help in standing up to the bosses.”

“You’re not a union shop?”

“We are union.  Machinists 888, and I’ve just become the steward.  But the machinists are… cautious.”

“You mean just  the machinists of the 888 are cautious, or the whole Machinists Union?”

“Both are, though I only can speak for my shop’s union.  I wish all the branches would join forces, and other unions, too.  I wish there were stronger action.”

The woman looked at him, assessing him, but something like a smile touched her lips.

“What’s your shop?”

“VDB Industries.”

She looked hard at him; he stared her down, but she didn’t flinch.  Still holding his gaze, she said, “There are different reports about that shop. They pay good wages, though.  Why would you want to act if you’re getting good wages?”

“Yes, they pay good wages.  Above average, for machinists, and tool-and-die makers are at the recommended scale.  Working conditions are decent.  But… there’s no advancement.  Ever.  There are other issues too, but I’m not ready to talk about that just yet.”

She held his stare a bit longer, then nodded.  She broke the gaze and went to a file cabinet, pulling out several pamphlets; then consolidated them  into a folder.  “Read these carefully.  You need to digest this; we need to know you are with us before we help you in this matter.”

“Thank you, Miss…?”

“Karen Johnson.  You can call me Karen, or you can call me Johnson. But please, drop the “Miss”.  I’m not big on titles.”

He gave his name in return.  She gathered other papers and put them into a manila envelope.

The men who had been lounging gradually left the room, and John was alone with this Karen Johnson.  He found he liked this development.

“Ok, Smith, here’s the deal… that reading, in the folder, is for you.  This manila envelope has information on our relief efforts and outreach to workers who’ve lost a position; temporarily or permanently.  We even have a few young lawyers we  can call on to do _pro bono_ to help people with petty charges – public drunkenness, loitering – things like that.

Smith arched an eyebrow when she said lawyers.  She noted it, and continued.

“We have other lawyers, for other purposes, you understand.”  He nodded.  “But  that doesn’t matter to the little guy who’s in a jam. ”She dropped her voice.  “I have something else for you.  She took a thin volume from her desk drawer, bound in crimson cloth.  “Read it,” she said, handing it to him.

He looked at the title, “I’ve read this.”

“Where?” – sharply - “School of some kind?”

“On my own.  The schools I went to wouldn’t be likely to carry it.”

“Read it again.  I have to be _sure_ of you.”  Her voice turned soft.  “Return it to me when you have.  It was a gift from a friend…”

“I’ll take good care of it.”  He gathered the materials and turned to go.

“Wait,” she said.  She scribbled something on a piece of paper.  She walked up and put the paper in his hand.

“If at any time, for any reason, you want to discuss the book and the materials, I want you to call me.  I want you to call even if you think it’s just a  little thing.  There’s a diner near my apartment if you want to discuss anything, anything at all.  With us,you’re either all-in or all-out.   So to make sure, it helps to talk. With a friend.”

John smiled.  “I’ll be glad to have a friend.  Something tells me this can be lonely work without one…”  
                 
She held out her hand, needing to get back to work.  “I’ll be seeing you again, John Smith?”  
                 
“You’ll be seeing me again, Miss… you’ll see me soon, Karen.”


	5. The Dossier

John Smith lounged in the leather chair near the window. He’d killed a half-pack of cigarettes and not yet made any progress on the dossier. It would be thorough, he knew.

Long ago, she’d given him a file to read, and as he walked into Chicago’s smoky winter air, he’d had a feeling of elation – of purpose, of incipient camaraderie. Now it was this folder, stale smoke from his own mouth, and a feeling that was bittersweet.

**

KAREN ANN JOHNSON

_1916\. b. Racine, Wisconsin._

_1925\. Johnson family moved to Chicago._

_1933\. Graduated, Valedictorian, Mary Todd Lincoln High School._

_1933\. Typist, then secretarial pool, Andreason Firm._

_1933\. “El” accident; leave of absence from Andreason Firm._

_1933-34. Secretary at World Laborers’ Party, Chicago Office. Personal Assistant to Regional Undersecretary O’Neal during his visit to the USSR and Germany, 1933 and 1934, respectively._

_1934-42. Executive Secretary for Chicago Office; Contributor to Workers’ Standard newspaper, intermittently._

Smith fought the urge for another cigarette. He was stuck in Chicago’s freezing air, hopeful, and starting to fall in love. Hurry on, he told himself. You’ve got to know; you're meeting again soon.

_1942-44 –_

Of course there was nothing. It was as if she was dead to the world. In that dark time, Smith _had_ believed her dead to the world, in the truest sense of the phrase. He blinked quickly; he had not investigated enough…

But she did show up again.  And though he hid it well, he could not have been more shocked when he saw her.

Read on, he ordered himself.

_1944 – OSS, Trinidad & Tobago._

Her duties were not described. Smith knew T&T had been a supply station, first for the Allies; then in ’46 the islands were divided between the Axis and the Allies, in a supposed truce. The Germans got Trinidad, the bigger island, and the one closer to the mainlands; the Allies settled for smaller Tobago. When Hurricane Mitzi struck that Fall, that was the end of an Allied presence in the Caribbean.

_1947\. Columbus, Georgia. Ladies Auxiliary Officer classes, Goebbels School in the CSA._

Oh, yes, the new old CSA. Clever way of co-opting those Southern Rebs into the Reich. (But Karen hated the South.) High marks. (No surprise to John.) Heydrich had been one of her instructors, and had high praise of her in his notes. Smith’s lips curled in disgust.

_1948\. Disciplinary Action; nearly expelled. Heydrich re-instates her, on condition of service in northern internment centers._

_1951\. Assigned to Omaha Obergrupp._

_1953\. Assigned to Propaganda Ministry in St. Paul._

_1957\. Assignment to Milwaukee Division, Midwest Region. Aide to Obergruppenführer Tommy Schmidt._

_1959\. Money-laundering scandal in Midwest Region, uncovered by Johnson and various undersecretaries. Key figures implicated, including Schmidt._

_1959-61. Commendation from the Führer himself to Hauptfräulein Johnson. New schematic for a rotating presidency, with Präsidenten to rotate quarterly – Hauptfräulein Johnson included amongst them._

It had been very controversial, Smith remembered, especially by Reich standards - both the constant changeover and the inclusion of Johnson. Understandable, though, for as damaging as the scandal had been. Several Reich districts on the fringes of the Neutral Zone went NZ or at least were out of contact with the Reich during that time, and they were still being brought back in line.

The Presidency was short-lived, and it was nominal – all orders came from Himmler, with the Präsidenten mere figureheads.

_1962 – The Reich names Karen Johnson its first Obergruppenführerin._

**

First Obergruppenführerin. Only last month, noted Smith. He had seen the notices, but he hadn’t really paid attention, hadn’t connected name and face. He’d dismissed it as just more of that Milwaukee irregularity, minor in the face of other concerns: the Führer’s health; a growing Resistance movement; and reconnoitering the Man in the High Castle (unsuccessfully as of yet). And then there was… but Smith brushed that thought away, quickly.

Or tried to. Helen’s grieving face stood a moment before his mind’s eye; her insistence on tastefully wearing black, and nothing but black…

John looked out the window, looking for anything that would distract him. He had failed to save… no, he couldn’t think of that now. Perhaps Helen hated him, though she swore she didn’t. He hated himself…

This would not do. Steel yourself, Smith, he ordered.

He paged through the dossier again. There were no family details, nothing personal in nature. She served none but the Reich, it seemed. Always? wondered Smith. Was there no pause, no time with others? What of her nights, her weekends, her holidays?

He smiled ruefully. She had always been a Viking, always been the Valkyrie…


	6. Something Has Come up

Their meeting had been set for a few days after the Ladies’ Auxiliary meet-and-greet, but the next morning Raeder walked in with Johnson in tow.

“Forgive the interruption, but something has come up…” she explained. “In a nutshell, I’m getting odd reports from back home. Due to this development, I’m wondering if we could have our meeting now.”

“I don’t see why not, if my aide can clear the schedule.” Raeder nodded that he could; Smith motioned to him to leave them alone. He got up and beckoned to the sofa and Karen perched on the edge of the cushion. He took a deep chair next to the sofa and leaned towards her. “Would you like any coffee or tea?“ 

“No, thanks - I’d like to get right to the matter at hand. There are telling me that Resistance elements have stepped up activity, particularly in my state. Reports of potential problems in the southwest part – the so-called ‘Amish Sector.’ “

Smith’s eyebrows shot up. “The one where the ex-Amish were relocated?” Johnson nodded. “But they are peaceful. Loyal. They even speak German.”

“Peaceful, yes. But they don’t speak the German of the Reich; they stick with their old dialect. Their language, like their ways, are still their own.”

The Oberstgruppenführer could hardly believe what he was hearing. “If they’re peaceful, then why are they a threat? I believe under their old ways they wouldn’t take up arms, and would have died rather than take a life themselves - even in self-defense. I understood most of the Exes still held to that. Has that changed? Have they stopped being loyal to the Reich and suddenly taken up with the Resistance? And without weapons, what are they suspected of doing?”

She gave him a wry look. “After observing them closely for some time, I’ve discovered that our ideas about ‘loyalty to the Reich’ fall flat when dealing with them. They’re cryptic, and their dialect is outdated enough that even with some fluency in German, they can be hard to understand.”

“What’s more, I think they still hold to some archaic idea of ‘gospel.’ They believe in offering help to anyone in dire need, and use their healing abilities that they learned from previous generations on anyone who is sick and hurting. And therein lies the problem. They extend their ‘charity’ to anyone, and that can help, and probably does help, the Resistance – even if they claim they don’t believe in the movement.”

“So, they’re becoming a danger. Like the Quakers…” he sighed. Smith fell silent, but a corner of his mouth twitched.

It was an old tic, and she recognized it right away. “What do you know about the Quakers, John?… I mean, Oberstgruppenführer?”

He looked at her tenderly. “Please call me John. Let's call each other like we used to - at least in private.” 

She looked at him in his uniform; it seemed to him she looked through his uniform. She was discomfited, and licked her lips nervously before she spoke.

“All right, John. What do you know about the Quakers?”

“Karen… I saw them - after the war.”


	7. An Ideal World

“So,” she began, “When the Reich came to power, decisions had to be made. Especially since we had so many denominations - and a history of religious freedom…”

“Yes. But like you said long ago, religious people have divided allegiances, and that’s why they’re dangerous to human progress. ”

Karen nodded. “In retrospect, I’m not fully sure that I fully understood what I was saying at the time. No matter; I found out quick enough.”

John looked away. There were regrets, of course… more than regret.

Karen continued. “Most of the Protestant sects were allowed to remain as they were during transition, for a few years, if they swore allegiance to Hitler first, which they did willingly.”

“Not the snake-handlers and holy rollers. Their churches had to be liquidated. I ordered some teams to handle that,” admitted John. Karen looked at him worriedly; he smiled wryly in response. “It was non-violent. Burning of their churches – while empty – left them nowhere to go and solved that problem relatively easily.”

“Good. We were trying to be as non-violent as possible. No one liked religion, but almost all of us did not want bloodshed from going against it…”

“The Catholics were too dangerous, of course to continue, even with the Pope being dead. So their members were moved to complying sects.”

“Some were executed…” John’s voice was very quiet. “Go on, Karen. Talk about the pacifist sects.”

Karen looked down quickly, inspecting her hands. “Yes. The pacifists: Amish, Mennonite, and Quakers. They were to be tested. They weren’t seen as much of a threat - at first, anyway.”

“The Amish, the old German Baptist brethren, and the traditional Mennonites were allowed to live - if they surrendered their holdings. They were told to move west -- mostly landed in the area just west of the Mississippi, and that small section in southwest Wisconsin. They were deemed far enough away to not bother anyone. They were small, silent, and didn’t have formal organizations anyway.”

“Besides, the Fuhrer was persuaded that because they spoke German, they would promote German culture - and that as farmers with strong family units, they exemplified family values, and the idea of blood and soil. Or at least soil…”

“He was persuaded?” John interrupted.

“A special group wrote to him on their behalf. I was the chief author. “

“But the Quakers…” John sighed. “Karen, Cincinnati was one of the areas their trains were sent to…”

Karen was silent for a long minute. “Yes. I know. I was part of that decision, too.”

“I read it. After they arrived in the camp, I went to my office and it was waiting at my desk.”

“They were dangerous because they spoke out, quietly but persistently. Their vocal opposition to war meant they couldn't be tolerated.” She looked at John, steely-eyed. “We did the Reich's work. Can you imagine our society, or any society, functioning adequately with pacifists screeching? War is a necessary duty of the State.”

John turned up his mouth, but his smile was sad. “At one time some of us believed strongly in pacifism. That in an ideal world they would be no need for war.”

“In an ideal world… yes. Some of us are still striving for an ideal world…”

John sighed. “The Reich is going to be embattled for a while before we can reach that. This question of whether the Ex-Amish aid and comfort the enemy proves it.”

“That is why I must go back. I need to get to the bottom of this, and be sure they remain absolutely neutral. I need to ensure their compliance and regain control of my sector. It goes to the heart of our new mission together.”

“The Resistance will fall, Karen. Then maybe we will have our ideal society, someday.”

“After more blood on our hands, for both of us, I’m afraid.” Karen rose to go out.

John caught both her hands in his. He held them for a long time, noting how small and yet how strong they were.

He kissed one of them before letting them both drop. “It seems to be our _Wyrd_ … we join together in struggle, but we never get our peace.”

He turned his head away as she left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wyrd is an Anglo-Saxon/Germanic word, roughly meaning fate or destiny. There's a very strong note of fatalism, even a sort of Wagnerian resignation. As a lover of Beowulf and other Anglo-Saxon literature this would be a definite concept for John.


	8. A Problem Area

Smith went over his schedule with Erich, then justified it with Karen's timeline for leaving town to deal with the (Ex-)Amish situation. She wanted to leave now, start addressing the situation, then report back. John didn’t see the point in her going back alone; she’d been there for some time - though admittedly she’d had other problems to deal with. More than that, he wanted to see for himself. Equally as important, he wanted to keep their forces combined, not separate; especially since they were comrades once again.

He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. Quaint, small-city Milwaukee - and that whole Wisconsin region - what a curious mess! It certainly was turning out to be a problem area. Maybe all of the leaders – himself, other American Reich leaders, the brass in Berlin – had taken the area’s beer-brat-and-polka reputation too much for granted. 

Other, bigger towns had taken precedence for the Reich: Chicago, of course, not only for its large population (truly the Greater Reich's Second City) but for the challenges of cleaning the city of its racial elements - and keeping it clean. Detroit, Gary, Cleveland, and the Pennsylvania cities, with their steel, iron, and other industries took a place of high importance. 

His mind couldn’t help but turn to VDB industries. How valuable it had turned out to be in uniting the East and Midwest; and how loyal and steadfast it had been as the Factory of the Reich. Helen had reason to be proud of her family’s business.

And in the end, his former workplace had unionized, after all. If semi-nationalization hadn’t looked exactly like his younger self thought it might, all reports suggested the move had been very good for the workforce.

He looked out the great glass windows of his office. The bright sunshine began to be obscured by factory smoke, and a haze off the Lake…


	9. The Week At VDB

The week at VDB Industries had been exhausting, not least because there were layoff rumors spreading about. His co-workers were going to the corner bar and understandably wanted him to come to either confirm or deny the rumors - something John couldn't have done if he wanted to. Management proved persistently opaque.

He would have liked that beer though, he thought, as he washed and changed clothes. No matter - coffee with Karen was much better. He ran to catch the El.

At the end of the block Lindy's Cafe was well-lit and, from the looks of it, was the kind of place that was open all night to all kinds of comers. Passing by an alley he saw a Colored, eyes bugged-out on heroin, and John curled his lip.

The air off the Lake was brisk. Through the window he saw Karen in a red sweater reading. He knocked on the plate glass to get her attention and she broke into a wide smile as he came in.

“Two coffees,” he said to the waitress, “and the beef commercial and… a chicken salad sandwich?” he guessed.

“Fine,” she smiled “and a fruit cup, please.”

“Well now, how have you been, John Smith? Thanks awfully for meeting with me. You've been reading.” She pointed to the book satchel.

“Yes, I have,” he said. “I think it is high time we workers start to see our daily struggles as a combined effort. Move beyond our narrow trade groups and see that we are all are workers.

“And yet people fight it. They embrace their cliques – their chains, if you will.”

“I see it at our plant all the time. Pipefittes are separate from boilermakers who are different than the welders, and so on. Sometimes if there's a big enough threat, their petty unions might combine. But otherwise they stay in their departments, hardly knowing the other exists. I'd like to see the unions at VDB Industries take on the spirit of co-operation, of unity.”

“Well, that's what brings you here, isn’t it? And if VDB gets on board… you'll be happy to help all other shops see the value of having One Union?”

John nodded.

“Well, what about VDB? I've heard they're very loath to even come to the table and use any number of tricks to avoid it. Divide and conquer is always a favorite.”

“Yes. For instance…” John paused before going on - he knew was being pumped for information, and it was a disconcerting feeling. Still this was his cause; there was no sense in holding back. “… The bosses want to put in a new machine that replaces several machinists. So naturally the machinists want to strike. But the other unions take a wait-and-see approach. There are rumors of layoffs – or replacement by scabs.”

Karen sighed. “At some point we need to discuss what to do with scabs. Our aim is not to terrify them, but to turn them around. Why do you think there will be scabs in those other departments?”

“If one union strikes and we don't all join, the bosses will say they have to do maintenance in the plant. They’ve done it before -- furlough one or several departments and bring in scabs. Sometimes they even bringing those lounging Colored from the South Side.”

“Sounds imminent.” The waitress bought their food. Karen picked at her fruit cup.

“Well, I've seen people clustering around the gate -- including some of the better sort of Negro -- looking at notices.”

Karen dumped some sugar into her coffee. “Are you aware that we have many decent people of all colors in our struggle?”

John considered. “I know of decent Negroes who have their own segregated unions in some shops. I don't have a problem with that. I certainly would rather that, than that the Colored gamble, juke, and do dope.”

Karen looked at him. “You know, Detroit has integrated unions, as do several plants in Gary. So do many of the coal mines. Even some of the older textile plants Down South.”

He wrinkled his lip. “Perhaps it works in those places. My own experience tells me that many skilled white workers don't care to mingle with them, because they see the sloth, drugs, and sexual laxity of your ordinary Colored.”

“You _do_ seem to have a problem with Negroes. But tell me, what options do people have if they're denied useful work?”

John didn't have an answer.

“At any rate, you _will_ work with them, if they become part of any place where we lead the struggle. How you make that palatable to Polish, German, Italian, and Swedish workers is up to you.”

She poured in some cream and rattled her spoon against the heavy cup. “But don't worry about our commitment to helping you. I agree – we agree – that getting VDB to have a true workers’ union, not just the medieval-style trade guilds, is of utmost importance. We’re behind you 100 percent.”


	10. Family

Karen continued. ”I see you in the larger picture eventually. I think you do, too. Let me ask - do you have a family?”

“Not much of one anymore. My mother is alive - I send her money every week. But she finds more purpose living in Ohio with my sister-in-law - two widows looking out for each other, I guess. Edmund, my older brother, died young.”

“How awful! What happened?”

“He was very sick - muscular disease. It was a painful way to live and a painful way to die. He was the bravest man I knew. Never stopped smiling, never flagged. He wrote poetry ‘til the end; mostly little verses about daily pleasures, or love poems to his wife.” John swallowed. “My sister-in-law was an angel with him.” 

“Better even because she's real. Angels are just fantasy." She took his hand. “We all need someone to love us during hard times.”

“Edmund was easy to love.” John laughed. “I was always the problem child: asking too many questions for my mother's taste; always breaking an arm or something…”

“And your father?”

“Pop died mid-life. It seems to run in our family to die early; I don't expect to live beyond 55, 60 if I’m lucky. But… it wasn't illness. He was shot by a company dick.”

Karen’s eyebrows shot up. “What happened?”

“Well, you might say that the Smiths and the Van der Burghs have an intertwined family history. VDB had a forge in Ohio - one of their first outside Pennsylvania. Pop got into the shop. He was well-respected by everyone. He was a natural leader, loved because of his strong work ethic and his fairness.”

“There were some employees who wanted to unionize from the very beginning, but they weren’t a very big group. Pop was - well, he was afraid of unions. My grandfather had been killed at Haymarket, when he was just a babe-in-arms.”

“Pop worked the foundry; he was a foreman, and popular with other workers. When I graduated high school he got me apprenticed with the machinists. He was eager for me to get in, maybe even rise within the ranks of the company.”

“I didn't get to apprentice very steadily, that’s for sure. You know what it’s been like: layoffs, pay cuts, odd closures or furloughs, in the name of economy, but applied without rhyme or reason. Old VDB keeping people on the hop. Then, there really was a push to unionize.”

“Pop and I didn't agree. I was for it; he wasn't. It was never a cause of anger between us, but I saw that though he would try if work with the different departments and with the bosses, still it came to nothing with just a few lead workers trying to beg scraps from the bosses. The workers wanted Pop to unionize and lead them.”

“Finally there was a demonstration. A big fellow, Francesi, was at the head of it. I was told by our neighbors that Pop had gone up to talk to him. At some point Pop asked about safety - his old fear I - and Francesi pulled back his jacket to show a revolver. A company detective was watching and he was going to shoot Francesi. Pop had moved in front of the man, and accidentally took the bullet.” 

Karen held her hand to her mouth. “My God, how terrible! I'm glad you didn't see that…”

“In the end he was given a hero's funeral, so to speak, and any moves toward unionizing died then and there. Mother wrung her hands and cried ‘It’s Haymarket, all over again.”

“The company gave her a settlement to avoid a lawsuit. Because I had started to apprentice, VDB said they would see to it that I finished my apprenticeship - on condition then I leave Ohio and come to their Chicago plant.”

“I took it - grudgingly, but a man has to take his opportunities. I was on the train, thinking to myself that I’d take over Pop’s work and bring workers together. I think that's why he talked to Francesi… that maybe he'd seen the value of banding together. So that Haymarket was not in vain, after all.”

“On the train, I keep seeing this redhead in a custom suit, following me all the time. I asked him what he's following me for, and he invites me to the club car and orders the best whiskey.”

“He tells me he's Walter Van der Burgh. I say nothing. He tells me it was his idea to get the company to do right by my apprenticeship, so I say ‘Thanks’ - and stop drinking his whiskey.”

“He says ‘It was only the right thing to do, after all your father did for the company.’ Says ‘You didn't know? Your father was trying to talk Francesi out of unionizing. Shame to lose such a sensible man. I’m sure you, as his son, will be sensible, too.’ “ 

“But when you came, you joined the union,” said Karen.

“Yes. My grandfather was for unionizing workers, and was killed by the capitalists; My father hung back on unionizing workers, and was killed by the capitalists. I figured the only way a worker like me won't be killed is when we have a society based on workers.”

John pushed away his coffee cup, leaned in, and fixed her with his green eyes. She held his eyes equally intensely, nodding him to go on…

“I decided on the train that it’s as easy to die fighting as to die cowering.”


	11. About Tchaikovsky

They met every week now, usually several times a week. John was pleased and he knew Karen was, too.

Much of the time was cause-related: classes on economy and labor history at HQ; standing together to hand out pamphlets; meetings with unions at various work sites.

Still, even in the most work-oriented groups, he noticed that they always ended up side-by-side. Other members generally met this development with smiles; sometimes with a frown - usually from the Party’s local organizational president or treasurer.

More and more, he craved their time alone. They still met at the diner to discuss the movement and its philosophy, or sometimes commenting on developments in the Party at the national level, or news in the Soviet Union. Karen knew a little Russian and she taught him some of the lingo. She was delighted (but not really surprised) to discover he was a quick learner.

They talked about other things, not just politics, but arts and literature. They saved their money and went to concerts and performances. Tchaikovsky was a perennial favorite.

“It's sooo… _booo-zhway_!” she said one night, mimicking the group's president, Ed Patterson. They laughed.

“Patterson doesn't have any taste. Anything he can't understand he dismisses as bourgeois.”

Karen smiled. “Oh, he's right. Traditionally, the arts were the plaything of the rich, and all those Society Types. But unlike Ed I don't think that's a reason to avoid them; I think it's all the reason to avail ourselves.

“Agreed! We have radio, records, films… we should use it to bring out our best selves and raise the community. The community will rise even if it's lowliest members have lofty ideals!”

She snuggled her head against his shoulder. “I love it when we talk highbrow.”

“Don't laugh!”

“I'm not laughing. I'm just thinking how amazed ‘our betters’ would be to discover a working-class boy from Ohio and a grocery clerk’s daughter from Racine talking about Tchaikovsky and Tolstoy.”

She looked up at him for a good while. John felt his breath catch.

Karen opened her mouth a little, sensing a shift. She tried resuming the conversation. “We've gone quite a bit beyond them, John.”

“Our folks?”

“All of these people…” She didn’t know how to explain herself all of a sudden… she sighed, then looked up at him.

The intensity of the moment! Everything was showing in her eyes.

He wanted so much to kiss her. He took her chin gently in his hand. Suddenly, all the dirt of history and all the recent struggle melted away. He hardly knew how, but amazingly her lips were on his and they were embracing. It was their world now; theirs alone.


	12. Check Into This Wisconsin Matter

John inhaled sharply, coming out of his reverie. Karen… surely she had this in hand; did she really need or want his help right now? Working in another’s sector was always an awkward business…

He remembered walking down South Halsted Street with her one day - he was meeting with several stewards from various union shops, something he’d only done occasionally. She asked to come along. She sensed his reluctance – some of these places really were a man’s world – but, she assured him, she was only there to help and observe. Two heads were better than one, and he had to agree. Besides, they loved working together; and they both knew it.

So here we are again, thought Smith, two heads watching and planning. Only now I'm her superior. She can't refuse me, and she wouldn’t anyway. 

He called Erich. “Call Obergrupperführerin Johnson and tell her I want to see her immediately. I’m going with Johnson to check into this Wisconsin matter. Keep things running in my absence for the next week or two.” Smith went to the closet; he had travel clothes there, packed and ready at all times, as the aide well knew.

Erich felt bound to speak up. “This is sudden. Mrs. Smith called only an hour ago about a school conference in a few days. I told her you would make it…”

“I'll call her back and talk to her; she understands my duties,” Smith said. 

She did, John admitted to himself, but she was so moody nowadays. It was understandable, but it was hard to deal with. Sometimes she seemed to want nothing to do with him, practically pushing him out the door to the office and telling him how their duty to the Reich was all they had left. Other times she clung to him, telling him every detail of her and the girls’ day; and all but asking him to attend their piano lessons.

“I'll deal with Mrs. Smith,” he repeated, “She's more than capable of a parent-teacher conference. She’s the strongest woman in the Reich.” Erich clicked his heels and left, taking the travel bags.

He had his meeting with Karen soon… but first, he’d better call Helen.


	13. Calling Helen

It was the second time he'd called in the last 20 minutes; each time he let it ring 10-12 rings. Nothing. Helen hated hearing the phone ring. She was afraid to pick up the phone some days - too many questions; too many commitments; too much face to be saved. He sighed – sympathetic, but frustrated nonetheless.

She finally answered.

“ Yes,” she told him, “Yes, I agree about the Resistance. Darling, such snakes; we’ve nursed absolute snakes… no, I guess it can't be helped. Yes, I see the need, but the girls don't sleep well when you're gone ever since…”

There was a brief, but uncomfortable silence, and then Smith resumed.

“Helen, I'll be back soon, I promise, It won't be a long trip, but it might be the key to the solution, and then peace. We can live in peace.”

“I hope so,” she whispered. “It's all I've ever wanted - to see you out of that uniform. No more uniforms, just you and I living out our days. Maybe move to the Hamptons. Watch the bay, just watch the water like we used to, like when you proposed by the Lake.” 

That was so long ago, he thought. But my feelings are still the same. Through time and marriage and fatherhood they've grown deeper. If only Helen were here he could take her in his arms and assure her things would be all right.

“Erich will know where I am. If you need me back, let him know.” She’d grown fearful these days, but never hysterical, thankfully. He knew she wouldn't abuse her ability to call him back.

“I know, Dear, but I can't help it if I'm always worried when you go. Be safe, Love.” Never one for goodbyes, she hung up abruptly.

He laid down the receiver gently. So this was their life together now - fervent declarations of love if they had to be apart; endless uncomfortable silences when they were together. If they talked, they talked about everything current in the Reich and barely a word about personal subjects - especially one.

A beam of sunlight slanted across his desk. He remembered another desk and another sunbeam and the way it lit the reddish hair of the new payroll secretary. How she had looked up at him with admiring glances, a slightly flush on her cheeks…


	14. The Little Red-Headed Spy

He had gotten his check and deposited it, taking out a good hunk in cash. His needs were simple and he would contribute to the Party’s coffers. Karen had told him the relief fund was especially low.

“No sooner does one layoff end than another begins somewhere else. Honestly, it's just a revolving door and as long as one group of laborers thinks they are safe, they forget about the others.”

He handed her the money and kissed her; this woman was his real treasure. “Well, this is the least I can do. Winter's coming.”

She hugged him and kissed him back. “Yes - a cold one I'm afraid. I saw a woolly bear caterpillar on the sidewalk with more black than brown. I think we need to find more coats and such for the children. Maybe I'll knit some mittens or scarves.”

“Madame Defarge at her knitting, taking down the damned Aristos! Let me hold your yarn, dear.”

She dimpled. “I don't think I want to be Madame Defarge. She came to a bad end, and besides, I've always imagined her hatchet-faced…”

He laughed. “That, Love, you most definitely aren't.”

The treasurer and president walked in. “Knock it off, you two. Love is a bourg-ouay concept.” Patterson, always pontificating.

He said to Smith, “You need go to payroll. We need someone to check what's going on with those rumors of pay discrepancies. Sounds like gratitude bonuses to people who didn't fall under your spell and vote for one combined union.”

“If you're trying to needle me by appealing to my vanity, Patterson, you're as foolish as you are weak in your judgment.”

Jamie Leary, the treasurer, rubbed his neck, then spoke. “If there were actual pay discrepancies, it would be worth knowing. VDB has used them before in Johnstown, when they allowed a vote on unions, only if it were done publicly.”

“That was in _Allen_ town, Jamie.” Patterson couldn’t resist correcting.

“Ye-es, Allentown. But point is, if making the vote public wasn't intimidating enough, once the ‘No’ voters got their Loyalty Bonuses, why, it just killed any progress from then on.”

“Maybe that's what the little red-headed spy is there for,” said Patterson.

“Red-headed spy?” asked Smith. Surely they didn't mean the little secretary?

“New clerk in payroll,” said Karen. “Not your ordinary girl from the typing pool. She’s one of the Van der Burghs.”

“Just out of finishing school, and decides she wants to go work in an office!” Patterson slapped his knee.

John frowned. “Well, does that make her a spy?”

“She's a Van der Burgh; what else would she be?” asked Jamie.

Karen considered. “John has a point; she probably grew up sheltered from the business side of things; concentrated on piano lessons or something. Besides, they don't need her to tell them how to put workers down.”

Leary pushed the point. “But she probably did displace some poor sister from the lower ranks...”

“I think she's a spy,” Patterson insisted. “John Smith, you should get to know her; talk to her and draw out her thinking.”

“How is that gonna happen? I’m a machinist; I don’t hang around in payroll all day. Why would she listen to me, a union man? - since she's a capitalist as you say.”

“Oh, I dunno, Smith; use your muscles or something to impress her. Ask her to coffee, just as if she were any girl, working ‘til she finds a man.” Patterson grinned, practically leering. “You seem to get the attention of some women.” His grin turned into a dour face.

Karen slipped her hand into John's.

“You're disgusting, Pat.” said John. He and Karen headed toward the door. “There are a few things that defy the profit motive - and even party machinations.” He looked at Karen's upturned face, touching her softly under the chin. “This is one _boo-zhway_ concept I’m keeping intact.”


	15. Working Together

The Obergruppenführerin walked in, looking stern, even angry.

“Oberstgruppenführer, I’m about to go back to Milwaukee. Why did you called me here and delay my trip? My bags are waiting in the taxi.”

“Not anymore. I had my aides put them in my car and sent away the taxi. You were booked on the public flight - one that is slower and leaves later than a chartered jet. Don't you agree that you must make haste to get back?”

“Why, of course!” She was nonplussed by his maneuver.

“I have a private jet chartered at Richthofen. Our car is waiting to take us there. Much faster.”

She recognized the airfield, of course. As well as Lincoln Rockwell, the main airport, those highly placed in the Reich had access to this private field, named for the Red Baron. It was a training field for piloting students, as well as helping higher-ups get private transport for secret or sensitive missions. And - helping feed scurrilous rumors for the Resistance - some of the secret flights were rumored to be of a personal, even intimate, nature.

“Surely you don't mind that I took the liberty - but I'm coming along with you.”

“No… I find myself… pleased. But your duties, here? Can you spare the time?”

“I promised you all the support I can give, and that includes my time. Sturmbahnführer Raeder is more than capable of keeping things running smoothly. I also feel the need to get out of the office; away from predigested reports. I need to see for myself.”

“Yes, that's always best. You’re right, John.”

They went to his car. It was a very short drive and the jet was waiting; they boarded quickly.

At last, they were alone in the plane. The crew stayed in the cockpit and crew cabin.

She went to him and took his hand. “I’m grateful, John. I've been so concerned about controlling this matter, thinking about keeping order in my little neck of the woods, after all we’ve gone through. So much internal house-cleaning. Maybe at first I didn’t see how this would become so… important so quickly.”

“I overlooked it too,” admitted John. “We're always focused on the big Eastern cities, and then, too, there were those developments Down South.” She looked as if she were about to ask about his own recent trip to Berlin. That was a discussion he didn’t want to have, so he continued quickly. “With so many flash points, we forgot about the smaller areas, with their reputations of loyalty…”

He took a cigarette out of his case. “Mind if I smoke?” He offered her one.

She shook her head. “I still don't,” she said, smiling.

“And I still smoke more than I ought to. A habit that seems to have gotten worse in the military, especially when rising in the ranks.”

“I always knew you would rise in the military. Nor was it a surprise you rose in the SS.” She said it softly, a hint of that old feeling in her voice.

“It's been a long time since we've worked together. To be honest, I'm enjoying the prospect," he said. He was sure it showed in his voice, too - the old camaraderie was back, indeed.

“Yes, it won't be exactly as it was back then, but it appears I'll be showing you the lay of the land.”

Their hands were lying softly on the seat, clasped together. He squeezed her hand gently.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this and make it right. You’ll see.”


	16. The Little Secretary

The wind off the lake was biting, but John had the list tucked firmly inside his shirt. Karen would be pleased. Patterson would be pleased too, he thought grimly, especially if he thought John had been playing on the little secretary with his – advantages.

John hoped that that wasn't what he was doing and wondered vaguely if he had discouraged her enough.

He walked into the office and Karen quickly walked up to him. He held her close and kissed her.

Patterson frowned. “The list?”

“Here it is. She gave it to me just as soon as I told her it was to make sure all the pay levels matched union seniority.”

“She didn't balk?”

“No, in fact she seemed fair-minded; sympathetic, even.”

Patterson grunted. “Well, that’s a new one.”

***

He’d gone to the payroll office just after five. He knew that the little secretary - Helen was her name - was closing up alone. He'd told her he needed last week’s payroll sheet, as there had been complaints by some of the members that there was a mismatch between their checks and the appropriate union scale.

She motioned him to follow her. She hummed a popular song as she reviewed the list, wrote down some new employees (recent additions), then started mimeographing.

She looked at him admiringly. “I bet they’re all glad to have you looking out for them. You look like a good man for the job.“

“I hope so. It's important work - promoting fairness to labor.”

“That's why I wanted to come out to Chicago this year - learn a little about the company and the people who work here. Do you think I'm strange for doing that? My father says I am. But whoever I marry – I debut next year – whoever that man is, he gets a big share of the company. Especially since I haven’t any brothers. So I thought it's my duty to pick the best man. Be my own best lookout on these matters; don't you think?”

“Oh, yes, I think that's admirable.” Was she just one of these Society Types who goes slumming out of her fancy school, considering herself “liberal” on account of it? Though she did seem to have a sort of common sense…

“Of course, it's not so easy to find out who the best one is, but I suppose I'll figure that out. The boys back home all seem spoiled – narrow, somehow. I haven't met anyone out here. Wouldn't it be funny if I did?”

“I don't know.” He supposed the rich are the same wherever you go.

She checked the list over. “Here you are. When you’re finished will you bring it back to me checked-off back to me?”

“This is just a copy; you have the original.”

“But if there’s been worries about discrepancy, I want you to check it off. That way I know once and for all that everything is correct; or else what the proper scale is for the members so there’s no more questions.”

Huh! Future debutante though she might be, she was a sharp cookie, too.

“Fair enough. I’ll need it ‘til Friday to reassure the men, either that all is on the up-and-up, or to assure them the union is fighting for their rights. I’ll get it back to you then.” He paused. “I may send it with my deputy steward; I have to leave as soon as I can after payroll. I'm going to the Indiana Dunes with my girl.”

“Oh, of course! How nice…” She glanced at him a bit guiltily - like a cat caught eyeing the cream.


	17. Chivalry

“I think our course is clear,” said Patterson “Since they’re playing favorites with pay on who is and who is not pro-labor I think it’s time to send a signal. A small bomb in the payroll department after 5 on Friday. John, your deputy can place it when he returns the list.”

John felt suddenly uncomfortable. “Why hit payroll? They're just clerks; they don't make the decision.”

Leary piped up. “It ‘hits ‘em in the pocketbook.’ Besides the Van der Burgh girl works there; it'll have a big impact.”

“Yeah, it will blow up her widdle files and poor rich bitch will pee her panties all the way back to Philly,” Patterson sniggered.

“But pay disbursement takes about an hour and sometimes the clerks are still working after that.”

“You know that because?...”

“Because sometimes to do union business we have to go in after 5. I went in after hours to get this, when she was still working late by herself. It made more sense to get the list while she was there alone. Can you imagine her handing over company information in front of the full office in the middle of the workday. Why do you think I was late?”

They all looked at him.

Karen spoke first. “Well, all right. John has a point - most of them are just workers too - they just haven't embraced it yet.”

“I think there's possibilities here,” argued Patterson. “We know there's that Van der Burgh there. If she got scared, it would shake them up; if she got hurt…” he turned to glare at John “…or die, don't you all agree that's ‘hitting them where they live.’ “

John could feel his mouth twitch; he knew he was being tested.

“Normally striking at VDB Industries would not disturb me; after all, at times there is a place for violence, if strategic…” 

“All violence is strategic,” said Patterson.

“But this is gratuitous and unchivalrous!” 

Patterson let out a whoop; even Leary smiled. “Oh that's a good one, John. Tilting at windmills and rescuing damsels are we? Well, that's a bourg-ouay concept if I ever heard one…”

Karen cut him off. “Patterson, you're an ass!” She turned to John “But he's right about one thing: chivalry is dead. It never was alive! Why, tell Sojourner Truth about chivalry; tell the suffragettes were force-fed about chivalry. Go talk chivalry to the survivors of Triangle Shirtwaist…”

“You have a point, Karen, but mine remains - the women are innocent and shouldn't be the victims of this bomb. It's a man's mess.”

“I’m on your side; I don't want them to get hurt either and hope we can avoid it -- but if not… ”I'm sorry, but women are part of this world, part of the struggle. Backwards, greedy men will keep holding us back, unless men and women like ourselves will either make it right… or die trying.”

“I disagree. It’s a man's world, like it or not, and it's up to strong men to remake it so that it’s safe for women can get a new place and new start.”


	18. Thursday Revue

They all left rather awkwardly; Karen and John walked together, but palpably tense. Their goodnights were terse.

The two of them talked it over, talked it out, finding a balance between the need for action and the need to not cause needless harm. John knew they could not remain divided.

A few days after they’d made up, John decided Karen needed a night out. They had gone out to dinner & then caught a Thursday Revue downtown. (It was cheaper than on the weekend.)

They went back to Karen's apartment. She yawned and stretched comfortably. "What a grand evening. Thank you, John."

“You needed a good dinner, a real dinner for once, instead of coffee and sandwiches at the diner.” He opened a beer and leaned back.

“A great show… I liked the tap dancers, and the chanteuse.”

“I liked her and the comedian! What was the name – Berliner? Berlinger? He'll go far.”

“Oh, yes, New York has the best comedians! What did you think of the solo dancer? You haven’t said anything about her.”

John grimaced. “Not my favorite. Those eye rolls and weird gyrations! Animal...”

“Oh, but it really was something to see her in person. You know, she's a celebrity in the cabaret world. Some say she's the next Josephine Baker. And a lot of men think she's gorgeous...”

“I have all the gorgeousness I need right here!” He pulled her over to him and planted several kisses on her face. “I don't even see other women; you're my only girl, and I don't care what those other women do… or how they display themselves.”

She kissed him back; lightly, at first, but soon she was returning his kisses hungrily. They embraced and kissed for a long time. He felt fevered, and he could feel the struggle within her as well.

But this was not the time.

He held her face in his hands. “Who needs that awful decadence when there's so much more? You are my love and I have the highest love a man can have for you. When we meet as man and woman, it will be meaningful and permanent.”

She rested her face against his palm. “It will be, John; as permanent and meaningful as anything on Earth can be…”


	19. Amish Pastoral

The car rolled through lands placid with green hills, red barns, and black-and-white Holsteins, but the region’s mood was far from placid. Under the broad waves and slow smiles of the farm folk, there was worry etched on faces.

Karen’s accent, which had broadened in the city, was more pronounced and nasal, now that she was back in her native area.

“These uprisings in the Reich worry the farmers. Even though rebellion hasn’t come here yet, they feel the tension. One farmer near the Mississippi even has said his cows are giving less milk.”

John had nothing to say to that as he watched the country unfold. Neat farmsteads, to be sure, lots of flowers near the houses. A woman pruned a white rosebush – she smiled to herself, and he liked to think of her singing at her work.

The farms had been gradually changing. Near Milwaukee and Madison, the Reich flag flew proudly over large dairy operations with steel sheds and blue silos; gleaming stainless steel tanks held the pure milk that fed the rosy-cheeked children of the American Reich. Farmhands in blue denim jumpers and armbands worked in unison.

Then, gradually, there were the smaller farms, still benefitting from gleaming sheds and silos, but clearly the work of one or two farm families, tied to the soil with the blood of generations. Garden patches and swingsets clustering by the house. (And these, John had to admit, were the farms that he liked best; they reminded him of folks in Ohio and other parts of the beloved Midwest.)

And now, the farms were plainer yet. The houses were spare, white-framed, and increasingly, lacked electrical lines to their barns, seemingly leaving their stock without the benefits of Nazi progress and technology. Horses, not autos, often appeared in the clean gravel side roads. Most of the men were bearded, and a few women in dark dresses moved about like gentle shadows. All was clean and peaceful, yet so strangely stripped of any sort of sign or symbol. (Stripping man of any mark of his rightful mastery over nature, thought Smith.) He moved restlessly in his seat, but Karen was untouched by any discomfort. A calm beauty rested on her face.

The wheels of the big sedan crunched up a gravel drive to a small farmstead and a man in overalls pointed to where to park. Smith and Johnson got out of the car.

“Oberstgruppenführer, allow me to present Johann Yoder.”

“Sieg Heil,” said Smith, giving the salute.

The man extended his arm for a handshake. “Come in peace, mein Friend. Please, to see the farm? I wouldt invite you in, but… da kids... croup has been going around.”

“Oh, I understand. Have they needed a doctor?”

“One of my wife’s sisters who is goot at healing has kept it under control.”

Smith narrowed his eyes a bit. “You’re not opposed to modern medicine?”

Yoder smiled. “Of course, but only if sure there’s a need. Let the body work in its way, first, yah?”

Just as well, thought John. Would a Nazi doctor in these parts eagerly help and cure… or be more likely to do ethnographic research? He thought of some doctors he’d met in Berlin and suppressed a shudder…

Johann Yoder was not young, and he was stooped with labor, but his green eyes twinkled and his long graying hair curled and bristled in the humid air. He seemed an odd mixture of both active and contemplative principles. John estimated the man was near his age, or maybe nearer to what his brother Edmund would have been.

“Our community is small, but we haf varied talents. Many people are herbalists. We haf also an interest in visiting South America, where some of us have extended family. They have learned great things. Mein own sister, Anna, has found a plant that promises wonders for folk mit muscle weakness!”

“Well, that is extraordinary!” It was a strange coincidence to be talking about this. Smith looked sideways at Johnson, then back at Yoder. But their faces were innocent. Perhaps it really just was coincidence that this topic, which painfully reminding him of Edmund and Thomas, had come up. They were farmers; perhaps they were simply talking about old-fashioned balms for their hard-earned aches.

Smith and Yoder talked for some time. Yoder admitted that getting used to the Reich’s ubiquitous presence had been a matter of time for the ex-Amish. But he assured Smith that their former reputation for not recognizing governments had not been a principle of lawlessness, but had come from a belief that men should be moral and ethical from the promptings of their heart and inner being. (John doubted that men were really that good, but he supposed this odd formulation was the ex-Amish trying to reconcile their old tradition with their new reality.) Yoder said he hoped they were proving to be good citizens.

Smith nodded. The ex-Amish _were_ model citizens; their small farms were to be envied for their efficiency and contributed substantial produce for the Midwestern part of the Reich. The ex-Amish themselves were models of hard work, large families, and humbly submitting to the common good. Even their old and worn-out farm implements had a value to the Reich – they were a popular and lucrative export to the Japanese Pacific States, where merchants touted their “historicity” to the gullible Pons.

Nothing he said was tripping Yoder up; indeed, Smith doubted there were any problems in the region. Obergruppenführerin Johnson clearly had this bunch in hand. If there was trouble, they’d have to look elsewhere; continuing this chit-chat was a waste of time. He took leave of Yoder and he and Johnson walked back to the car.

As they walked to the car a little blond girl in a dark green dress came running around the corner of the house and bumped into the Oberstgruppenführer. How much she reminded him of his daughters at that age! He smiled and bent down to say hi to her.

She looked at him, very frightened, and started to cry. A woman with mousy salt-and-pepper hair saw the incident and jogged to the girl to pick her up.

“Ach, mein niece, she is so scaredt of strangers!” she apologized. “The English mann mustn’t mind, please?”

“No, no, of course not. All kids are scared of strangers at that age.” She had called him “English”, the old term for non-Amish, and Smith filed it back in his mind. He smiled pleasantly at the woman. “But hadn’t she better go back in before she gets sicker?”

The woman knit her brows.

“We were told the croup was pretty bad,” said Karen.

“Yah, it is!” the woman agreed quickly. “But this one, she avoided it, so she may play and enjoy her deliverance.” She turned on her heel quickly and hurried to the house.


	20. In A Hotel Room

Out of habit, John scanned the room for hidden surveillance. The suite – two separate bedchambers, Jack-and-Jill bathroom, and a common sitting area - was the top floor of a small-town turn-of-the-century hotel, about 100 km. from Madison. Still, one couldn’t be too careful.

Karen glanced at him over the scotch-and-soda she was making him.

“We’re quite safe, John. I trust this hotel. The owner is one of my allies.”

He nodded. Spies were everywhere. They always had been, but the recent power vacuum in Berlin spawned lesser-power struggles everywhere – more than usual, anyway. And for a woman in power…

For himself, he was less concerned about anyone grabbing power than starting rumors that could reach and hurt Helen. Even though those rumors were completely false.

Nevertheless, he had no objection to sharing this discreet suite, and he was more than pleased when she sat next to him on the sofa, handing him his drink.

They clinked glasses.

“Much better than the beer or rotgut we used to drink on weekends at the Dunes,” John said, sipping appreciatively.

“Oh yes! Remember, we had to save up and go to nightclubs to get anything drinkable? I still have no idea whose bathtub you raided for some of the ‘whiskey’ you smuggled to Indiana.”

They laughed warmly with the memories. They were crazy days. Roosevelt had authorized beer & wine sales before his assassination, so they could get that (in quantity if not quality). But his assassination plunged the nation into mourning, and also took the impetus out of the repeal movement. In the end bars, clubs, and restaurants were able to get good liquor from Canada, but for ordinary folks it was either hard to get or prohibitively expensive. So “bathtub gin” and homemade stills remained.

John and Karen leaned closer with the camaraderie of those memories. Or maybe tiredness was wearing down reserve…

Being together was so cozy, thought John, and he laid his arm across the back of the sofa. Platonically, of course; he listened to her murmur about how the trains were slower, but somehow more charming, more sociable in those days. He smiled lazily, wishing he could be drinking a whiskey with her in a club car…

Suddenly, John roused himself out of reverie. There were serious matters to discuss; they both knew it. He disentangled his arm from the furniture and stood up, jamming his hand in his pocket.

“Karen… these enclaves. The ‘ex-Amish’; we’ve got to deal with them.” Karen nodded.

She set her mouth firmly. “Of course, John; that’s what we’re doing with this…”

“I mean, I think they are set to be exterminated.”


	21. Orders

“What? _Exterminated?_ When was this decided?”

“It isn’t _decided_ \- not that I know of. But the alarm has been raised.”

John sighed heavily. “Raeder called earlier tonight. You know I authorized him to be my acting -führer while I came out here to investigate. In the short time since we left New York, he’s gotten some memos from High Command in Berlin. The idea’s been floated that they ought to be exterminated for the good of the Reich - sooner rather than later.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “ ‘The idea’s been floated’…? “

“When a few key figures actually voice these things, Karen… it’s a matter of _when_ , not _if_ , someone comes up with a plan to implement it.”

Karen took a deep breath. “John, as you know, I myself had raised concerns about the ex-Amish. But to think, at this stage of the game, that we have to exterminate an entire group of good citizens of the Reich…”

John raised his finger warningly. “They have been good, but you yourself had questions about whether they can be considered citizens, let alone loyal ones.” Karen nodded reluctantly. “Jacob Yoder admitted they struggled with the transition. And that girl and her aunt – they should have recognized myself or anyone else in the uniform as a good representative of law and order. But that woman only saw an _English Mann_ …”

“She’s an older lady; set in her ways….”

“But the child? And the confusion she showed?” John ground his teeth. The fear in the girl’s eyes stung him more than he cared to admit.

Karen took a large swallow of whiskey.

“So many people, just trying to live their lives and accommodating themselves these last 15-20 years to a new Reich. All across this country. She tossed off her drink. “Even the ones who proudly hoist _Reichsbahnen_ on their flagpoles and respectfully _sieg heil_ \- if they’re honest, they’ll admit some having to get used to a new regime.” She set down the glass, fixing him with a somber look. “Wasn’t there a transition, even for us? The ones who knew the risks and willingly signed on to save our families, our society?”

She had hit home, and she knew it. He tried to shrug it off.

“But we both knew there had to be sacrifices. And sometimes, still are.” That feeling of a goose walking on his grave…

“Our purges of religion - they seemed so necessary at the time. But once I got away from the camps and amongst civilians, I sensed how those purges could have cost the Reich. The ex-Amish are loved in this area. If you go after these plain ordinary people, you could lose the respect of many of the small farmers, the towns- and tradespeople. And aren’t those everyday folks the backbone of the American Reich?”

He looked down, embarrassed. Only Karen could leave him at a loss for words.

“Ye-es...” John sighed. “But when we were younger, didn’t we want more than that? Didn’t we want more than the town, the state, or even the country? Didn’t we want to change the _world_? Hmm?”

He had her there. John pressed the point. “I rose in station… just as you’re doing; and it’s a different vantage point. This is the world power. The Resistance will fail utterly. Oh, they do damage, but they’re rag-tag. They can’t succeed. And the Empire is backwards, still stuck in superstitious decadence. No one can sensibly argue against the Reich’s ultimate success…”

Karen nodded. “Naturally I want to put down rogue elements. But… I am _tired_ of always going after whole groups and populations…” John knew her pain; the purges and camps took heavy tolls on both of them. Perhaps guilt served as a suggestion that one’s methods were too crude…

“Fortunately, there are no orders… yet. But they need to be better integrated into the Reich itself. Have they taken loyalty oaths?”

John knew that when the Reich took over, the administration of the Loyalty Oath to the Fuhrer and the Reich had been sporadic. Fractious communities were required wholesale to line up and take the oath, but other communities had been blandly accepted and taken over, no questioned asked.

“You know that large swaths of our German-American Midwest had hardly any re-doctrination, including areas here in Wisconsin.” Karen frowned. “This area, being remote, only got it spottily. And anyhow, that was some years ago.”

“Retaking the oath in public would help. It would buy time.”

She agreed.

John took a sealed envelope out of his briefcase. “Sturmbahnführer Raeder gave me this, just minutes before we left for the airport. From our contacts. I haven’t yet had a chance to look at it myself…”

They opened the envelope and looked at the contents; a dire look crossed Karen’s face as she looked at the first item. John came and stood behind her. They were aerial photographs. “Shots of ‘Western Minnesota and Iowa’ ?!” she said, reading the caption.

Now a look crossed John’s face, too. “And this aerial of the Missouri River…” Newly plowed squares of land showed dark against the tawny background, neat gravel roads bisecting. But there were no electric lines, no poles by the stark new houses.

They looked at each other, nodding grimly.

“We’ve seen small skirmishes throughout our western territory,” said John. "We know that Resistance fighters have been severely wounded and left for dead. Yet they show up months later in intelligence reports as possible undercover actors. Where are they getting such help at amazing healing? Yoder admitted to their healing prowess. And that they travel about to practice it…”

“He admitted travel to places like South America to learn more about resources. That is all.”

“And the skirmishes in Minnesota and Iowa? That you told me are beginning to crossover here?

“John! Don’t you know that if I thought they were Resistance, I would have put them down immediately?”

She fixed him directly with her clear, crystal-grey eyes. They held each other’s gaze for a long time.

“No, I don’t doubt that. I would never doubt you…”

They touched fingertips together, softly. It was an old gesture of comfort between them. Oh, god, how he had needed that! They sighed contentedly; united again in purpose…

“But if the Reich knows…”

“The Reich doesn’t know – yet. It only suspects. The day you called on me, I contacted… other channels. To find out what I could. I _just_ got these photos before we took off.”

“But Erich serves the Rei…”

“Erich serves me.”

He took her empty glass and built a small pyramid of ice cubes, then doused it with plenty of liquor.

“He’s an old Iowa boy himself. Not that that signifies. He doesn’t know what was in this envelope. Only you and I know the contents of the packet.”

He made his own ice-and-booze pyramid and handed the other to her, toasting with a slight _skoal!_

She laughed to herself and gazed into his eyes, quietly returning the _skoal!_

“So you’re here to…”

“… help those who have, up ‘til now, been good members of the Reich. And who will be integrated, and act as full citizens – once taken away from current distractions.”

“They take the oath. Then what?”

“Then we relocate them to South America - since they like it so well. My Aide has… some experience with making logistic connections there.” He winced, and took a rough drag of scotch. “As it happens, Brazil is ready for development; the Reich wants more crops and ranchland. While these old farmers make the jungle into a garden, they can study those tropical plants for their herbal remedies. Who knows? Perhaps their proto-science will help the Bayers and Dörmers bring perfect health to the superior race!”

“Relocation… Great Scott! But at least this time it’s to prevent killings. So that’s the order – all of them get relocated?”

“Those will be _our_ orders.” John quirked an eyebrow at her. “Karen, it’s the only way. If Berlin gets a hold of these aerials, and we don’t have this plan… we might not save them.” He again took her hand gently.

“I understand. The Reich demands total loyalty and obedience. It’s for the best.”

A look of perfect trust passed between them.


End file.
